


Rescue

by TakeMeOut



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeMeOut/pseuds/TakeMeOut
Summary: Clara contracts a psychic parasite, and there's only one way the Doctor can get rid of it.





	Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> An extremely thinly veiled excuse for Whouffaldi smut.

The trip sounds innocent enough when he proposes it, and Clara agrees without hesitation. They’ve come to observe a planetary conjunction that promises to be breathtakingly beautiful, but the planet the Doctor has brought her to is so remote even he hasn’t been to it before. They’ve hardly stepped out of the Tardis - the Doctor deep in an explanation of the movement of the relevant celestial bodies - before he halts, bemused. 

“What’s up?” Clara asks. 

He looks around. “There are no people. There should definitely be people, here. Lots of them.” He sniffs the air suspiciously, and his eyes suddenly widen in alarm. 

The Doctor begins to push her back towards the Tardis, opening his mouth to speak, but without warning she’s overwhelmed by a searing pain inside her head, and her world goes dark. 

Clara wakes on a trolley bed in the Tardis medical bay, her head mercifully calm. The Doctor is standing next to her, holding an empty syringe and wearing an expression of deep concern. She tries to sit up, but he holds her down with his free hand without difficulty, and she is shocked anew by the strength that his lean frame conceals. 

“Take it easy. You’re going to be wobbly for a while yet.”

“What happened? Why did I pass out?” 

He draws his eyebrows together into a single glowering mass. “The planet was overrun with a ... a kind of psychic parasite. It latched onto your consciousness, and it spread quickly through your mind.” 

“And now? Is it gone?”

“I gave you a shot of psychogenic suppressant. It’ll hold the parasite at bay, for the moment.” He’s not meeting her eye, and she sits up and glares at him. 

“For the moment? What aren’t you telling me?” 

“The suppressant will only work for a few hours at the most. It’s not a cure.” He sighs, and looks up at her. “I’m going to have to create a psychic link with you, and remove the parasite myself.”

Clara’s eyes widen slightly, and she swallows. He raises a hand instinctively as though he’s going to touch her, then hesitates, and drops it again. “There’s no other way, Clara. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

She blinks. “Can you …” She clears her throat, and tries again. “Will you be able to read my thoughts?”

He shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want me to. You’ll … you’ll feel me, in your mind, but you can hide anything away you don’t want me to see. I’ll draw out the parasite, and then you’ll be fine, and that’ll be it.” His tone is oddly flat. 

She takes a deep breath, and nods once, decisively. “OK, Doctor. Let’s go.” The Doctor moves forward, resting his long fingers lightly either side of her face with infinite gentleness, and the hair on her arms stands up. 

When he enters her mind, it feels like she’s been hit with a brick. He tightens his grip on her head, murmuring reassuringly, as she reels backwards. She can feel him probing her mind, but after a minute or two he drops his arms, and turns away. His shoulders slump for a second, and then he hides his discomfort in activity, opening and shutting various cupboards and rummaging among the contents. 

Clara narrows her eyes. “Doctor?”

He’s still crouching, urgently pulling bottles and vials and unrecognisable devices out of the cupboards and examining them minutely. He doesn’t reply, so she walks over and pokes him in the shoulder, hard. “Doctor! Talk to me. Didn’t it work?”

He stills very suddenly, refusing to look at her. Clara pulls him to his feet, and he reluctantly meets her gaze. “No. It didn’t work.”

“Then what’s next? You’ve got a back-up plan, right?”

He tries to turn back to the cupboards, but she grabs his shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak, but is clearly having difficulty articulating his thoughts. Clara prods him again. “Doctor. You’re scaring me.”

The Doctor looks down at his feet again. “There’s … there’s only one solution that I can think of.” When he turns back towards her, there’s a look in his eyes that makes her take a step backwards. It’s unfathomable, and dark, and frightening. 

“Please, Doctor. Just tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

He clears his throat and begins to pace up and down. “The psychic link isn’t strong enough for me to push the parasite out. There’s only one way I can boost the link enough to deal with it.” He stops speaking again, and she can feel herself becoming frantic. “For God’s sake, Doctor, just bloody tell me what you need to do.”

He stops pacing, and his jaw muscles tense. “We’d have to sleep together, Clara.”

Clara holds her breath, and it feels like time itself grinds to a halt. Eventually, she exhales. 

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.” He bites the side of his thumb, watching her tensely. “I’m sorry there isn’t another way, Clara.”

She huffs. “You’re assuming it’s something I wouldn’t want.” The Doctor’s head snaps up with unnerving speed. 

His eyes are dark, and hooded, and piercing, but this time she isn’t frightened. She steps forward and slides a hand inside his jacket, across his white T-shirt, feeling the lean, sinewy muscle underneath. He tangles his fingers in her hair, takes a handful, and pushes his lips against hers, his tongue finding its way inside her mouth as she kisses him back. She’s never seen him like this, never felt him touch her with such confidence and assertiveness, and she’s acutely aware of how wet she’s becoming. 

The Doctor pulls her closer, one hand pushing under her top, and she can feel his hardness pressing against her belly. He lifts her quickly onto the edge of the bed, and she wraps her legs around his waist, her head dropping helplessly against his chest as she rubs herself against him. Speaking is tricky, but she manages to gasp out a plea. “Doctor. Please.”

He kisses her again, fumbling urgently with his trousers while she pushes her skirt up around her waist. He pulls her knickers to one side; she feels him nudging against her wetness, and suddenly she’s beyond desperate. She snatches at his hips, and he slides into her with a single motion, making an inarticulate noise. She barely has a moment to savour how he feels inside her, before an atomic bomb goes off in her brain, and he’s inside her head too. 

What happens next is a confused swirl of images, and emotions, and a voice inside her head that isn’t hers. It speaks wordlessly of devotion, and care, and lust hidden under a desperately stony veneer. She feels the intensity of his delight at being inside her, and how long he’s wanted this; and without warning she comes, crying out again and again as she’s overwhelmed by her own pleasure, echoed by his as he follows her over the edge. 

When Clara’s gathered herself and her breathing is beginning to return to normal, she realises just how exhausted she feels. And that she’s a little overwhelmed. “Has it gone?”

He shakes his head slightly. “A lot of it has gone, but the job’s not finished yet. It will be soon, I promise.” He touches her cheek gently, and his eyes crease with affection. “You need to get some sleep now.” He supports her gently to her bedroom, and helps her undress before she sinks gratefully into bed. He quickly sheds his own clothes, wrapping his long limbs around her, and she’s too tired to even fully acknowledge that she’s seeing him naked for the first time. 

The Doctor kisses the back of her neck. “I need to …” He breaks off, and muffles his voice against her shoulder. “It’s probably going to take a few more … goes. Before I can completely get rid of the parasite. But you also need to sleep, and I don’t want to wake you if I can help it. Do I have your permission?” 

She smiles to herself that he’s so formal, even now, and nods as she drifts off into sleep. 

Clara wakes in the night to feel him pushing gently into her from behind, his breath hot on her shoulder as a faint grunt of pleasure escapes the back of his throat. She reaches back and touches his face in the dark, and he kisses slowly up her shoulder to her neck, lips parted. “Go back to sleep.” Despite her exhaustion, though, he feels so good inside her that she can’t help but pull one of his hands down to touch between her legs, showing him what she likes, and feeling his rising excitement in her mind. He’s a quick learner, and before long, she’s coming hard around him, shaking as he holds her. 

In the morning, she wakes with a start to find him watching her intently, and she reaches up and cups her hand around his cheek. “Has it gone? The parasite?”

He nods, and her shoulders relax. She trails a finger down the pale column of his neck. “What about the psychic link? Will that go too?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Can you still feel me?”

“A little.”

His expression is inscrutable. “I can turn it off if you want me to.”

Her response is immediate, and emphatic. “No. No.” She runs one finger over his thin lips. “I don’t want to lose this. Any of it.” He stares wide-eyed at her for a moment, and she feels his agreement whispering in her mind as he leans forward to kiss her again.


End file.
